Of the Night
by Shelbo
Summary: A young stockbroker, Anna, is visited by a seductive succubus named Elsa. AU; non-incest
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is gonna get a ton of heat, I can feel it, because it involves a woman falling for her rapist. I understand that this NEVER happens, plus it is absurdly fucked up. I apologize to anyone who is offended, but I am basing this on the myth of the succubus. If you are triggered, I suggest that you not read this. Also, you are all loved. **

When I was thirteen, I had my first real night terror. Like, they've been haunting me since then, most nights. At first, they were constant: her long nails, her platinum blonde hair braided manically, eyes the color of steel. She held me down and had her way with me while telling me not to make any noises.

The first night, I did scream...I caterwauled. I woke and found myself alone but sopping in sweat and my own piss. I was so damn scared that I wet the bed as a teenager. My parents, of course, ran upstairs trying to find out why their precious daughter woke them up in such fashion at one a.m. This went on for weeks before I was sent to a therapist.

Yes, this kinky ass blonde woman would rape me in my dreams. But the strangest thing happened when I was about sixteen: I started to enjoy it. Like it wasn't rape anymore, because I wanted it. Those dreams had started to be come more of a biannual thing after I turned fifteen, so it had been so long since I had them the night I begged for her return. I don't understand why I did. Rape is terrible, awful. It's terrifying and scarring, and I never thought I could want this woman. But once puberty hit, she was all I thought of.

Her breasts were perfect: definitely double Ds, but that was all I was allowed to really touch. She was a stone butch, I guess, except she wasn't butch at all. I know this all sounds ridiculous, but this was my teenage years. It was a comfort and escape, because it was unreal.

That was the best and worst thing about it.

I never really dated in high school because none of the boys or girls were her. I kept expecting to find at least one person who reminded me enough of her to keep me satisfied, but that's the thing about perfect women: they don't exist.

Anyway, ranting aside, hi. I'm Anna, I'm twenty-two, from Tucson, Arizona, and today I start my job as a stockbroker on Wall Street. Yeah, yeah, yuppie cliché and all, but a job's a job. I went to business school at Harvard too long to do anything else.

So here I am, dressed in a green pencil skirt and a white blouse, red hair neatly combed, standing at a crosswalk waiting for the little green man to pop up. The tall, straight-laced men in Armani suits around me are carrying leather briefcases, but I only have my clutch purse at my side. I'm waiting, waiting, _holy shit_. There! Coming out of a nearby tenement house is a stroke of white hair. I know it's silly, but I've been hunting for my night phantom all these years, or at least I automatically focus on gals that look like her.

So, even though I'm about to be late to my first day of work, I take off down the streets of Lower Manhattan after this girl in a baby blue sundress.

We don't go far before I slam her against the side of a jewelry store, perusing her. It's her: the wispy blonde hair, slight dusting of freckles, hardly noticeable overbite, expressive eyebrows that are pierced on the left side, and most importantly, those prominent canine teeth.

"Where the FUCK have you been!" I shout at her, shaking her like a rag doll. "I haven't had a sex dream in a year! And you're real?!"

She finally speaks. "Anna, I've been fucking you since you were underaged, I thought you'd grown tired of my visits."

"I could NEVER be tired of you! God, why didn't you tell me you weren't just a figment of my imagination? What the hell are you? Why have you been in my dreams?"

She rips my hands away from her shoulder. "Calm down! Fine, fine. I owe you an explanation and possibly more. Coffee?"

* * *

We have coffee at a runty place in Little Italy. She orders a cappuccino and finally begins to tell me what I need to know:

"My name is Elsa Morningstar, and I'm a succubus. God, this sounds like some introduction for an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. I go into people's dreams and have sex with them. I fucked up and raped you as a kid, and haven't wanted to go in anyone's dreams ever since. Yeah, cheesy. But literally I can't."

I raise my eyebrows as I ask, "What do you mean you can't."

Elsa stirred her cup of coffee. "In Hell, some say that there comes a time when a dreamdemon becomes unable to enter other people's dreams. They are so sexually connected with a single person that they cannot visit the dreams of others. After I started fooling with you, I couldn't finish my orders..."

Naturally, I'm angry. I hate Elsa for raping me, taking away my virginity, making me weak and victimly. I hate that she "accidentally" entered my dreams while attempting to fuck my brother, Hans. I hate that I can never have a normal relationship. I hate how she's basically a prostitute from the afterlife. I hate that she really turns me on.


	2. Chapter 2

Her apartment is a fucking mess. Elsa's, I mean. There are emptied bottles of Bailey's Irish Cream strewn across the hardwood floor as well as newspapers fluttering in the shitty metal fan she has by the red leather couch.

"What, do sex demons not know how to keep a house?" I tease, standing on my tiptoes to meet those steel eyes. She's a head or so taller than me, which is nothing new. Being 5'3, I swear I'm the shortest woman working on Wall Street.

_AWWW BUTTFUCK! _I didn't show up at work today! I frantically pull out my Blackberry and scroll through the missed calls. My boss, a Mister Eugene Fitzherbert, has obviously freaked out, seeing as there are five missed calls and a text asking where the hell I was and how irresponsible it was of me not to show up on the first day.

"Excuse me, Elsa," I say as I make my way to a room in the back. I call Eugene back immediately, heart throbbing in my ears, fearing unemployment.

"Yelllloo?" the man on the other line responds.

"Is-Is this Eugene Fitzherbert? Head of brokerage at NASDAQ?"

"Why yes it is, and I do believe this is the new chick, Anna," he says, pronouncing it like "Ann-uh" instead of "Ah-nuh."

"Anna," I correct him.

"Oh, my bad. Do you wanna tell your boss why it is you haven't shown up for work?" I feel his tone skewer me.

"Uh," I bite my lip. "I had a family emergency. My girlfriend isn't feeling too well, the flu actually. So, I'm helping her out."

"Ah," Eugene's tone shifts. "A lesbian stockbroker. Hot." I roll my eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry. Cut my pay. I'll be there tomorrow, promise."

Eugene laughs and says, "You're lucky I'm the youngest, and therefore the coolest, higher-up at NASDAQ. See you tomorrow." He hangs up.

Elsa strides into the room. "Who was that?" she asks, placing her delicate porcelain hands on my shoulder.

I jerk away from her grasp. "My boss. Eugene. I was late to work because I chased your ass."

"Pity."

I wring my hands. "Why are we even here at your place of living? I am trying to hate you right now."

She leans in to bite my lower lip. "But, Anna, you never can. I don't care for Robin Thicke but 'I know you want it.' I can smell you getting wet. I heard you call me your 'girlfriend' on the phone with that Ivy League wanker." Elsa begins to do the thing that drives me absolutely insane: she's rubbing the curve of my jawline, softly applying the pressure of her sharp French tipped nails. I do nothing.

"Anna, you can hate me, and I don't care. You'll always want me. You don't have to love someone to fuck them."

"Then you don't love me," I interject.

Elsa recoils, bitterly. "When did I ever say that?"

I roll my eyes and begin to lift her dress over her head. "You're not gonna be in charge today." The pink sundress rises over her blonde head and finds a new home in a huddle on the floor. Obviously, this is a guest bedroom what with the queen size bed with mahogany finishing on the headboard. The wallpaper and carpet are dull and everything in here is from goddam IKEA, the place no one likes.

I'm fooling with her black thong now, inserting my fingers under the elastic band.

"Do it, do it, do it," Elsa squeaks, as if she had never been a bottom in all her life as a succubus.

I indulge her. I slowly pull the thongs off and place them where the sundress is. Now I'm gazing at her terrific slit, a tiny canyon surrounded by a landing patch of blonde hairs. The carpet matches the drapes. I do not want to stare too long, because I'm not that girl and having Stockholm Syndrome is bad enough. _Hi, I'm Anna, and I have staring contests with the cunt of my former rapist, whom I'm unexplainably attracted to. _"Get ready for this, Morningstar," I rasp as I crack my knuckles like a seasoned boxer.

* * *

I finger her first. I stick my index and bird finger deep into her, making a come-hither motion which sends her over the edge.

"Nnnnnnn..." Sweat forms on her abdomen.

I work harder and harder now, using my other hand to twist her clit, which makes her even more expressive. After some time, she's drenched, and I use my mouth to siphon the nectar. She doesn't take long to orgasm, seeing as she's never been the bottom. All these years, it has been pent up, I guess. But here she lies, a hot mess slumbering while I lick my hands clean of her sex.


	3. Chapter 3

**Shift in Perspective: Elsa**

I haven't told Anna of my life or anything other than my journeys into her dreams. What would I say? _Oh, hey! Do you believe in Satan? Well, he's my dad. Lucifer Morningstar? _She'd think me evil, I know it. There so much wrong with the situation: A). I took advantage of her as a child. B). I continued it into adulthood. C). She'll never be straight. D). I'm millions of years old, and she's only twenty-two. Talk about a cougar.

It has been a week since we met on that street in Lower Manhattan, a week since she gave me a brain bending hand job in my apartment. I have her phone number, but I haven't called her. I'm not scared, per say, but I get this foreboding guilt. She hates and loves me simultaneously, but she should just hate me. She should want nothing to do with me. She should call the cops on me, even if I could easily escape Earth and slip into the dankness of Hell before they even hopped in their cars. No, she was wrist deep in me, telling me what a dirty old bitch I was. When she left my apartment, she grabbed my iPhone and tapped her number in. The contact name? Anna Star. Star, how appropriate. She even put a winky face by it. Kinky.

She stood on her toes to meet my gaze, ginger eyebrows arched. "Call me, okay?" She left, but I still haven't called.

My phone is burning a hole in my pocket as I lounge on the couch. I do not have a job because my father's powers gives me an unreal amount of Earthly currency which would make the schmucks at Anna's work cry in envy. I wanna call her, I'm gonna call.

_NO! You gross old bat! She's fucked up beyond repair._

But I love her.

_No, you just like to suck her small, freckled breasts until it draws blood._

I like her for her. I like how she talks about college and her brother...

_She doesn't love you._

So? Not the first time I've fallen.

_Remember how that felt? When he died?_

Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup.

I draw my nails into my wrist until crimson emerges. It's the only way to calm the voice in the back of my brain. It sounds like a mixture of my mother and companion, Chernabog, the voices of wisdom in my life.

My father saw me as a trophy child, but just that: the most treacherous of his children, a succubus. My mother is also a fallen angel who revolted against Yahweh and was sent to oblivion. She is one of his many wives, but also one of his least favorites, seeing as she was a pure bitch. He prefers his new bitch, Margaret Thatcher, whom I despise, seeing as she's younger than I am.

Fuck it, I'm going to call Anna. I dial the number and waitwaitwaitwait...

"Hello?" she answers. Sweet, innocent Anna.

"..It's...It's Elsa..."

"ELSA!" she shouts through the receiver, almost in joy. "How are you?"

I begin to pace around the apartment while talking. "Uh, fine, fine. Can't complain. I've been watching reruns of Dallas on TVLand and-"

Anna is guffawing now. "Wait, you mean creatures of Hell watch shitty Earth shows?"

"They do when they hardly ever visit Hell anymore."

"So you spend all your time on Earth?"

"Basically," I reply. "My best friend is a demon named Chernabog who lives on the seventh layer of Hell. I often come back to visit him, but not as much. Not since-"

"...me?"

"Right."

The pause is pregnant.

"Hey," I blurt,"would you consider going to a club with me?" _No way, Elsa._

"Yeah, I mean, I am off on weekends."

"Good, Friday night. Eight o' clock."

"You don't know where I live, Elsa."

"Oh, yeah...I'll meet you in front of the bull statue on Wall Street, okay?"

"Done and done. See you then."

"Uh...bye."

"Nnnbye."


End file.
